Compromised Miss. Anne O'Brien
‘I’m afraid for her….’
‘There’s no need to fear.’ Empty words, but she must reassure him.
‘Help me…’With a deep sigh, almost a groan, he lapsed into silence again, dark lashes heavy against his pale skin.
‘I will. Sleep now…’ She closed her hand around his and felt an instant response, weak, in truth, but a curl of his fingers around her own as if in ownership, as if an unbreakable bond existed between them.
Harriette’s heart bounded heavily within her chest. Her breathing shuddered. In that one moment all she could desire was to stay beside him and comfort him, soothe his pain.
You love him! The words whispered in her ears, lodging in her mind. You have fallen in love with him!
‘No, I have not! Of course I have not!’ she remarked aloud, thrusting her hands behind her back like a small child caught out in some misdemeanour. As if she might reach out to touch him again because every instinct insisted that she do so, flesh against flesh. ‘How could I possibly have done anything so ridiculous!’ But her breath was short, as if she had just climbed the path to Lydyard’s Pride, her skin heated, the blood singing through her veins to make her aware of every inch of her body.
‘What’s that, Miss Harriette? Regret bringing him back here already?’ George Gadie came to stand at her side. ‘He’ll live, I reckon.’
‘And that’s the best we can do for now,’ Harriette remarked, furious with herself, but working hard to keep her voice calm, unconcerned. She drew her tongue over dry lips and prayed for a cold dose of common sense to cool her blood. ‘We’ll leave him to see if he recovers. One of the maids—Jenny—can sit by him.’
‘Then I’ll be back tomorrow, Cap’n, if you don’t want me now.’
‘You’ve done more than enough for me today.’ She touched his arm in thanks. ‘Go and let your wife know you’re safe. It was a good night’s run.’
‘Aye, it was. Hope he doesn’t cause you more trouble than he’s worth. Should’ve passed him over to the Silver Boat, as Mr Alexander said.’
Harriette angled a glance. ‘Would you have left Gabriel there under Sam Babbercombe’s care, if he was wounded?’ A grunt was all the reply she got as George opened the door for the maid, but she sensed his agreement. ‘Come for me if he wakes, or takes a turn for the worse,’ Harriette instructed Jenny, who settled herself on the only chair with a basket of stitching to keep watch. ‘I expect he’ll sleep through the rest of the night and much of the day.’
As Harriette walked slowly down the staircase, her thoughts remaining fixed on the man who astonishingly had the power to light a flame in her blood, she came upon Meggie climbing ponderously towards her, a deep wicker basket on each arm.
‘Well, Miss Harriette. Now what?’ She puffed out a breath, cheeks red with exertion.
Harriette beckoned. ‘Come with me and I’ll tell you.’ Retracing her steps to the first floor, she opened the door of the bedchamber she used when she could escape from Wallace and his overbearing wife, Augusta, and spend a night there. For furnishings and cleanliness it was little better than the one she had just left, but familiar with its lack of comfort she paid that no heed, walking immediately across the room to one of the windows, for the windows of the chamber looked out across the bay, offering a spectacular sweep of coastline.
Meggie, broad and stout, no nonsense snapping in her bright eyes, ignored the view as she deposited her burdens on the bed. Companion and servant to Miss Harriette Lydyard for more years than she cared to add up, and well used to her mistress’s eccentric lifestyle if not totally accepting of it, she did not mince her words. ‘What’re you doing this time, miss? Mr Alexander did not say.’
Harriette’s lips twitched wryly, knowing that her trust in Meggie could be absolute. ‘I think I’m bringing a spy back from the dead.’
‘A spy, is it? Do you think you should?’ Meggie did not appear altogether shocked.
‘No, but I can’t leave him to die, can I?’ The gleam of rich colour catching her eye, Harriette left the window and the view to dig into one of the baskets. ‘His clothes are ruined. He’ll need this until we can make other arrangements.’ She unfolded a dressing gown in stunning red-and-gold satin, dragons chasing their tails, with heavy gold frogging on breast and cuffs.
‘And he’ll have to be at death’s door to agree to wear it!’
Harriette chuckled. ‘Sir Wallace sees himself as the epitome of high fashion.’ She swirled the gown around her own shoulders and struck a stance remarkably similar to that of her pompous brother. ‘As for the occupant of my one furnished bedchamber, he’ll have no choice, however tasteless it might be.’ She looked up, eyes pinning her maid. ‘What did my brother say? Or did you manage to leave without his knowledge?’
‘More like what her ladyship said. Sir Wallace was gone on business to Lewes.’ Meggie stood, frowning, with her hands on her broad hips. ‘Lady Augusta had a fist-full of dissatisfaction, as you can imagine.’
Harriette grimaced, a little pain in her heart as she imagined the downward turn of Gussie’s mouth. Harriette had learned, almost, to live with the constant displeasure. ‘I’d hoped Zan would be more discreet. Does Lady Augusta know I was on a run?’
‘Of course she does. Can’t keep it a secret, can you, when every man in the Old Wincomlee knows the identity of Captain Harry? At least they all have the good sense and loyalty to keep their mouths shut so the Preventives’ll never hear the truth from them. And Sir Wallace’ll never help the Preventives, even if he is a JP. He knows where his next barrel of fine brandy comes from! But as soon as he returns, he’ll be up here before you know it, demanding to know what you’re about. And why you’ve not returned to Whitescar Hall, to don a pretty dress and play the genteel young lady of taste and refinement.’
‘Because I would die of the tedium of it all if I did! If Wallace’s taken himself off to Lewes, let’s pray God he stays there overnight, and I’ll be undisturbed here for a while longer.’ Harriette’s eyes lit with mischief as she refused to let her spirits sink into her boots. ‘Even better, I’ll send a message that I’ve caught a chill—or a fever from France. That’ll keep them away. Wallace fears ill health like the plague, and Augusta won’t come here without him.’ She stretched her arms above her head, loosening tight muscles, then ran her fingers through her windblown and knotted hair. ‘I might even manage a week’s freedom. Wallace won’t come to see how I am if he thinks I’ll spread some noxious disease in his path—and foreign at that! An enemy disease!’
Meggie snorted a laugh, then quickly became serious. ‘But Lady Augusta’s not far from the truth, Miss Harriette. You should be wed. Not that I can think of any of your acquaintance worthy of you.’ She rapidly changed the subject with skill born of long practice as Harriette rounded on her, the light of battle in her eyes, in her face. ‘I’ve brought you some clothes, so that when Sir Wallace does arrive to blister your ears, he won’t be able to take exception to your appearance.’ She scowled at the salt-and-sand-encrusted smugglers’ garb, the scuffed boots. ‘What he would say at this moment, the Devil only knows….’
A tap came at the door. Jenny entered, curtsied and ignored her mistress’s unconventional attire. ‘The gentleman’s awake, Miss Harriette. I thought you would wish to know.’
‘Is he now? A stronger constitution than I thought. Then I’ll come.’
‘Not like that you won’t, Miss Harriette.’ Meggie grasped her wrist without ceremony as she would have followed the maid. ‘What would he think?’
‘I don’t care what he thinks.’ Or perhaps she did. She might have little care for her appearance in general, and none when engaged on a run, but would she really want this unknown gentleman to see and judge her in her present dishevelled and scruffy state? Would she want him to look at her, eyes widening in disgust